


The Reformation

by cleopatraslibrary



Series: The Looming Phantom of l'Opéra de Paris [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Possession, Sequel to 'The Possession', The Supernatural are real and terrifying, Whump Ryan Bergara, will add tags as necessary - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleopatraslibrary/pseuds/cleopatraslibrary
Summary: Ryan's wildest fantasies and darkest dreams have come to fruition: he's been possessed by a ghost. He feels sorry for the specter and believes he can trust him, but what happens if his fear of maleficent ghouls are actually true?
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: The Looming Phantom of l'Opéra de Paris [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1349212
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45





	1. The Aftermath of an Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> ** buzzfeed unsolved, buzzfeed, or people who personally know the boys, please do not read or interact. i mean, you could if you wanted to, but like? that's weird and odd and i personally enjoy having rights and not being in jail, so please don't sue me thank you i don't have money and this story is clearly fictitious, so.
> 
> anyway, moving on. hello! i am back from the dead with the sequel to [ The Possession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101462?view_full_work=true)! if you want to read this story in full, without having to wait for updates, i'd recommend bookmarking it or subscribing to it, as i don't have a set time when it'll be finished posting.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy!

Shane was silent as they walked out of the opera house. His face twisted every so often, before his expression smoothed out.

All except for that nasty glare he couldn't seem to contain.

Mark shared a glance with Matty as they followed behind him. This sucked. This really sucked.

-

"Well. That was certainly something," Lynn murmured as the door shut behind Ryan. “That was the best proof the boogaras got of a ghost!”

"You will not put that in your episode," Bella said. She stood with her arms crossed, and with a mean look on her face.

"With all due respect, madam," Devon started. "We know for a fact that his evidence was not faked. We can go through a thorough examination of our equipment, if you'd like us to, but we don't falsify evidence, or manufacture evidence of ghosts."

"It is slanderous--"

"It isn't, actually. Especially since it seems like you have a--"

A deep, soulful note came from behind the door. Slowly, it went up the scale, adding more variation near the end, before the voice went higher and higher. Lynn pointed the camera towards the door, recording the note before it suddenly went silent.

"I didn't know Ryan could sing," Devon whispered.

She shared a look with Lynn.

"He can't," she replied.

"I believe your time here is done," Bella gritted out. She pulled open the door and--

"Ryan!"

He laid unmoving on the ground, all of the fake candles blown out. Glass littered the floor.

Devon ran up to him, with Lynn on her heels. She knelt down, hissing when she touched his overheated skin. She searched for a pulse, and found one after a couple seconds. She breathed out.

"He okay?" Lynn asked. The camera was still pointed at him.

"Are you serious, Lynn?"

"What?" she asked. "He'd want me to keep rolling. At least, Shane--"

Ryan's eyes snapped open. They glimmered brightly in the dark, the only light still coming from the hallway.

". . . would," Lynn finished.

-

Matty hefted the camera bag higher onto his shoulder, once they reached the hotel.

“I’m going to bed, y’all,” Shane said without preamble. He saw Mark fidget from the corner of his eye, but neither said anything, except for quiet, “Goodnight”s.

“Tomorrow is going to suck,” Mark said once Shane was out of earshot. He looked over at Matty and he raised an eyebrow at him. “You think Ryan faked evidence?”

“Hell, no,” he replied. “Ryan wouldn’t put his credibility on the line like that. I can’t believe Shane even suggested it.”

“I mean . . .”

A curl of doubt settled behind Matty’s ear. “What?”

“I dunno, you heard what that thing said when we were there . . .” Slowly, they began to follow in Shane’s footsteps. 

-

“It’s time you leaved,” Bella said, a little bit softer now. 

Ryan’s eyes darted to her and Lynn swore they seemed like they were lighter than they were before. 

It’s so fucking dark in the cavern.

“Let’s, madams,” he said, getting up.

They all collected their equipment, while Bella looked around the cavern. 

“All of the lights have blown. How have you done this?” she demanded.

“R-- I haven’t done anything, madam,” Ryan said, his voice carefully measured. “I have film evidence, if you’d like it.”

She didn’t say anything else, and they all clamored onto the elevator in a tense, awkward silence.

Lynn studied Ryan; tear tracks were clearly present on his cheeks, but he didn’t sound as if he’d been crying. In fact, he looked fine. He looked and sounded better than he ever did after a ghost hunt, even after all of that evidence he collected.

Because she had been staring him down, she noticed exactly when his face scrunched up in pain, flinching away from the light as the elevator doors opened. 

He muttered a quiet, “Fuck,” to himself as a girl started screaming from across the opera house.

-

“What did you hear it say?” Matty asked him. He pressed the ‘up’ button for the elevator.

“I heard it say ‘yes’ when Ryan asked if there was a ghost down there. Then, a ‘not yet’ for what their name was.”

Matty eyed Mark, looking discomfited. “A ‘too long’ for when he asked how long they’d lived down there?”

Mark glanced sharply at him. “Yeah, exactly. Then when Shane said, ‘What do you want with us?’, I heard a--”

“‘Not you’,” they said simultaneously. The elevator door opened and they went inside.

“Shane would never agree to falsifying evidence,” Matty said.

“Neither would Ryan,” Mark added.

“There was more too, but I don't remember it.”

“Kind of same, actually? I’m a little fuzzy around the edges, but I remember a distinct, ‘I don't want you’,” he said.

“That’s not great for shaniacs.”

“That’s not great for their friendship.”

-

“I must--” Bella started, but she cut herself off, already running in the direction of the screaming. Ryan followed, his back straight and looking relaxed. 

Lynn started recording again, recording as people ran away from the girls terrified shouts.

“Seriously?” Devon asked her. She bumped into someone and muttered a quick, “Sorry,” as she pushed past them.

“Yeah, seriously. What the fuck is happening, Dev? Shane freaks, Ryan passes out--” Sirens began to ring outside. “--now this. It’s all connected.”

“Usually I’m not one to be a party pooper, but fuck our belief systems for a second. You have no idea what or who this is connected to, and--” She spotted him. “Ryan!”

She ran up to him as he watched the chaos and started tugging on his arm. She sniffed and holy shit. “Come on, Ryan, there was a fire. We have to go.”

A young woman suddenly stepped in front of them -- Celeste. The girl who wanted to warn Ryan. Devon looked behind her, and saw that Lynn was still recording, but from behind a pillar now.

She looked back at Ryan and he didn’t even look at her when he said, “Go, Devon. I’ll be with you soon.”

It was as good as command as anyone ever got. 

She glanced at Celeste; fear was easily read on her face. The fire must’ve frightened her.

“I'm going back to the hotel with Lynn. I'll see you soon?”

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

Ryan was never curt.

“Alright, see you then. Nice seeing you again, Celeste.”

She hurried back to where Lynn was hiding.

“We’re following them,” Lynn said.

“It’s never a good thing when I want to agree with you.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, smiling sharply. “Look, they’re on the move. Let’s go.”

-

They got off the elevator and walked down the hall to their shared room. Shane was already, presumably, in his.

“What do you think is going to happen to them now?”

Matty reached into his pocket, grabbing his key card. He slid it into the lock and the door clicked open.

“I don't know.”

-

It was easy for Devon to blend into the staff members and crowds. With the cameras, for Lynn, not so much. 

They followed behind them, their paths getting even more confusing once they got away from the people. 

They made a right, then a left, another two rights, and once they reached a set of stairs that were hidden within a statue, they lost sight of Ryan and Celeste. They’d definitely hear them coming after them.

“Ryan had been leading,” Devon murmured.

“Huh?”

“Ryan had been leading the way,” she said again.

Lynn understood what she was implying. “How would he know where to go?”

“I didn’t see him holding a map.”

“And even then, do you think this is on the map they’d give to us?” Lynn asked rhetorically. She switched off the camera and powered off the screens. 

A fire alarm finally went off and Devon said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m creeped out and am not ready to face whatever the hell may be down there.”

Lynn hesitated, before sighing, and agreeing, “Yeah. Neither am I.”

-

Ryan pleaded, before he succumbed to the dark reprieve his mind offered.

-

Shane was just beginning to wake up when the sun decided it was time to fuck with him and shine directly on his face through the window.

He breathed in a bunch of air to groan, but after actually breathing it in, holding it in, and opening his mouth, he lost all momentum and just let it come out as a huff of hot air instead.

“Christ, I’ve got to be getting old,” he said to himself as he sat up, despite literally every part of him demanding he go back to bed. He grabbed his glasses, shoving them on his face. He swung his legs off the side and froze when he saw Ryan in the bed next to his.

Shane had figured he would just switch rooms with one of the other crew members. 

He didn’t stop himself from staring. The blanket was pulled up to his shoulders, and Ryan’s face was scrunched up a bit, with his eyes moving rapidly under their lids, as if he were dreaming. It was clearly a disturbed sleep.

Shane looked away.

As he began getting ready to go to breakfast, he thought about their argument. He brought their interactions to the forefront of his mind and examined them carefully.

Certainly, Shane was the instigator. 

He questioned Ryan’s validity, accountability and, most importantly, his credibility. That was one reason why their show worked so well-- why Ryan’s show worked so well. Because they didn’t bullshit their viewers into thinking shit happened when it  _ so obviously _ didn’t. 

But then, that’s in the eye of the beholder.

And Shane’s eyes certainly beheld something last night.

Well. 

Ears.

His ears beheld something last night.

He glanced back at Ryan, to make sure he was still asleep and, when he was positive he was, stripped, putting his dirty clothes in a plastic bag and pulling on fresh ones. As he slipped on a comfortable pair of loafers, he walked up to the window to pull the curtains shut, so the sun didn’t wake him up, either.

The view captured his attention.

The sky was a violent orange, lightening into a pale pink over the horizon, and making room for the sun to take its rightful place. The streets were already beginning to bustle and, in the not so far distance, the eiffel tower stood proudly, overwatching the city.

It was beautiful.

His thoughts strayed back to Ryan and he swallowed. He wanted to make a move here, in this city. He wanted this to be the place they got together. Maybe go on their first date. Hold hands as they walked back to the hotel. Take in the sights with a new perspective, and perhaps even beginning to fall in love.

Yeah, sure, it’s cheesy, but that’s alright by Shane. And he was sure Ryan wouldn’t have minded.

He wouldn’t have minded if it weren’t for yesterday. 

He pulled the drapes closed, blinking and re-acclimating his sight to the dark room. Shane flicked on the closest lamp.

Behind him, Ryan whimpered quietly. Shane spun around.

His hand held onto the sheet in a tight grip and his body was tense, but unmoving. 

Shane took a few steps forward, to wake him up, but before he could even get past his own bed, Ryan’s eyes shot open.

For a few seconds, they were unseeing.

Bright brown eyes reflected in the soft artificial lighting. He had absolutely no expression.

It was disquieting, and curious.

Then, he blinked and seemed to notice Shane was there. His eyes darkened and Ryan shifted, pulling the blanket back over him and resituating himself in the bed. Shane sighed, but took the cue to leave.

He walked up to his side table, pulling his phone off the charger and shoving it into his pocket. Patting his upper thigh, Shane felt to make sure he had his wallet. When he felt confident he had everything he needed, he turned on his heel to leave the room.

He was just pulling the door open when Ryan’s voice cut through the air.

“Sha-- wait a moment. Please?”

Jesus, Shane really wasn’t in his right head, was he? It didn’t sound like Ryan.

He meant, like. Sure. It sounded exactly like Ryan, but not Ryan. Not his Ryan. Ryan, who wheezed instead of laughed. Ryan, who had issues pronouncing names. Ryan, who was actually quite eloquent, but speaks too fast and loses his flow in the middle of sentences when he gets excited. 

Ryan, who doesn’t say please to Shane because he knows he doesn’t have to.

He didn’t hesitate to respond. “Yeah, of course.” 

Shane turned around and inhaled sharply.

It sounded exactly like Ryan, yet didn’t. And as he stared at the bed, the man didn’t look like Ryan, either.

His shoulders are upright and straight, with some fuzzy red blanket Ryan must have bought draped around them. He was looking down at his hands, which were clenching, pulling the bedspread taut. His cheek was twitching.

“Are you-- shit, Ryan, are you okay?”

Shane didn’t make any attempt to move closer.

“N-- yeah, I’m great. Great. Um.” His throat constricted as he swallowed. He looked up and his eyes were shining suspiciously, as if he were about to cry. “I’m not talking to you the rest of this trip,” he said. His voice was surprisingly clear and enunciated. “I’ll talk to you when we get back. But I’m allowed to be angry at you, so I’m not talking to you after this.” He looked back down at his hands and seemed to be trying to reign himself in. 

A ball in Shane’s stomach clenched painfully, before loosening. “Alright. That’s. Yeah, that’s fair. Can we talk . . . when we get back to LA?”

Ryan’s eyes glazed over and he looked almost ill. He nodded robotically. “Yes-- yeah, sure. We’ll talk in Los Angeles.” His cheeks flushed and he focused back on Shane’s face.

“Do you need anything before I . . .” he trailed off, waving his hand in the general direction of the door. 

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” He looked increasingly agitated.

“Do you . . . want me to switch rooms?” Shane offered. He internally begged he’d say no.

“No--” Shane released a silent breath, “--that’s fine. Have fun in Paris. I’m going back to sleep.”

A single tear fell, and Shane’s heart broke a second time. Ryan didn’t seem to notice it and Shane didn’t say anything about it either.

“Night,” he said, but Ryan had already rolled over. Shane looked at the blanket for a second. It was a deep maroon, and thick. He squinted and pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t fuzzy; it looked like velvet. He hoped it gave him comfort.

-

“What the hell was that?” Ryan demanded. He felt discomfited and alien in his own body, after the sensations of his throat constricting without his own direction.

_ You need to forgive him. _

“I don't need to do shit!”

_ You will forgive him. _

His anger was soothed away by a warm touch to his mind and Ryan’s eyes drooped. He forgot why his statements made him so pissed in the first place. “Let me learn to forgive him on my own time,” he mumbled.

He felt the acquiescence of Lucien.

_ As you wish. _

He fell back to sleep.


	2. Legalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan goes home and Devon consults the legal team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've added the tag "Whump Ryan Bergara" because i've realized that's what this fic is turning into. oooooh, boy, do i have ideas. i hope you enjoy!

Ryan didn’t remember walking through the door of his bedroom. 

Objectively, he knew he had to have; how else would he be staring at his bed, with his bags in his hands, ready to drop it off?

In fact, when did he get home? When was he in LAX? When did he check out of the hotel?

What the fuck?

“Lucien, did you . . .?”

He began to panic, his heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears. Who did he last talk to, when did he last eat?

_ Ryan. _

The call cut through the panic like a hot knife against butter and he went dizzy. He dropped his bags as his lids went heavy, and he blinked sluggishly at the now spinning room.

_ Let me take care of you. _

He closed his eyes and colors flashed, a deadly caricature of a kaleidoscope dancing behind his eyelids. He wondered if this is what it felt like to hallucinate. Blearily, he cracked his eyes open, the brightness of the room chasing away the colors.

The dizziness returned.

He fell to his knees and groaned.

“Help . . . me,” he whispered, and instantly, the world went a startling, soothing black.

-

Devon took a deep breath in front of the door, before she turned the handle and walked inside the dull conference room. 

A few of Buzzfeed’s lawyers were assembled around the round table and her direct supervisor, as well as Leah and Katie. 

She nodded to them and looked over at Louis, her and her crew’s supervisor and the one she was most familiar with. He was sitting at the end of the table. “Good morning. Thank you for coming to this meeting.”

“Morning, Devon,” Louis greeted. “How was the trip? Not great, seeing as you’re meeting with us?”

She sighed and made her way across the conference room, sitting down heavily. She opened up her briefcase, pulling out different transcripts and contracts.

“It went okay. You heard about the fire?”

One of the lawyers spoke up. Adam, she recalled. “Yes, we did.” He frowned. “They aren’t trying to implicate you, or any of the other cast members, are they?”

“No, they aren’t.” _Thank God._ “No, but I have reason to believe they may want to sue us if we air the episode we just recorded.” 

Louis’ eyebrows raised. “Do tell.”

“We . . . Bella Williams, one of the directors, accused of us falsifying evidence.” She paused briefly. “Just to clarify: we did not. The Buzzfeed office had a technician come in to see if any of the equipment was tampered with and they said no. She also said we weren’t allowed to use any of the footage we got, as it would slanderous against the opera house.”

“What type of footage did you record?” another lawyer, Evelyn, asked. Evelyn Reid was specifically involved in preparing the contract between the Buzzfeed offices and the opera house.

Devon pulled out her phone, unlocking it. “It’s . . . complicated, that answer.”

She felt their eyes drilling into her head, and she hurried up to get to the video. She clicked onto it and paused it, then grabbed her five copies of the transcripts and passed them out. “Just in case you can’t understand it.”

She started the video and followed along in the transcript with what they were hearing from the video.

> SHANE: So, I hear we got a ghost in here, huh?
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: Perhaps.

One of the lawyers gasped aloud, before he flushed a bright red. “Sorry, it’s just . . . it sounds like a real person.”

> [There is a pause.]
> 
> RYAN: It doesn’t seem like it’s working.
> 
> SHANE: It sounds like it usually does.
> 
> RYAN: Alright then. Who’s down here?
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: Yes.

“Pause it please?” Devon did. She looked over at the same lawyer who spoke before -- Tyler. “Who is ‘perceived reception’?”

“The sound of the spirit box.”

They were silent for a second, before Adam asked, “Who dictated what ‘perceived reception’ said in this transcript?”

“Multiple colleagues,” she answered.

“Did you include any other perceived messages from your coworkers?” Louis asked, frowning faintly at Devon. She raised her eyebrows and he clarified, “Did you include any other interpretations of what the ‘perceived reception’ said?”

“ . . . No, I did not.”

“Why not?”

Devon breathed out through her nose, getting annoyed. “Because everyone heard the same thing. I asked different people around the office to transcribe what they heard and, aside from variations in sentence structures, I collected the same results across the office.”

“How many people did you ask to do this?” Adam asked.

“Six people, excluding crew members. Including crew members, ten, which includes myself.”

“And all of them heard the same thing?”

“Yes. Everyone just thought it was another person or some kind of Siri device.”

“When did you ask people to transcribe it? You only just came back, correct?” Evelyn asked.

“I emailed people before I left the hotel. Usually Ryan vetts the information first, but he wasn’t . . . exactly prepared to do so.”

That was the understatement of the century. When Devon and Lynn had gone to check on him the next day, he was awake, but . . . not coherent. He was hot and shaky, at times even speaking unintelligibly, and when Devon wanted to call emergency services, he had a moment of clarity. 

He’d gripped her forearm with tight grasp and said, “I’m fine. Do not call for help.”

His eyes were bloodshot and wide, as if he hadn’t slept. She imagined he hadn’t.

She’d swallowed and looked at Lynn, who’s gaze was wavering, clearly conflicted, before she, too, conceded. 

“Make sure to pack,” she’d gently reminded him, and he’d burrowed back into his red blanket.

Louis exhaled loudly, while Evelyn and Adam shared a look. Tyler requested, “Keep going?” and Devon pressed ‘play’.

She continued reading:

> RYAN: Can you tell me your name?
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: Not yet.
> 
> [A long pause.]
> 
> RYAN: How long have you lived in the opera house?
> 
> [Shuffling noises in the background.]
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: Too long.
> 
> SHANE, quietly: What the fuck is going on?
> 
> [A long pause.]
> 
> SHANE: What do you want with us?
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: Not you.
> 
> SHANE: Why don't you just say something? What are you, a coward? Don't want your name to be on screen? I understand, I gu--
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: I don't want you.
> 
> [An audible gasp in the background.]
> 
> [A long pause.]

“Pause it.”

Devon paused it, looking up at Louis.

“It cut off Shane.”

“It did.”

He looked shell-shocked. “You know how I feel about this type of stuff, Dev.”

“You don't believe in it.” She didn’t make it an accusation; it was simply a fact.

“Ryan said he didn’t mess with the footage?”

“Yes, he said that he didn’t mess with the footage.”

“You believe him completely?” Tyler asked.

Devon looked at him, giving him an unimpressed scowl. “With all due respect, you don't know Ryan. He would never jeopardize his credibility for one exciting episode. And . . .” She hesitated.

“And?” Evelyn probed gently.

“He hasn’t been acting like himself, since we got back,” is what she finally said.

“Guilty conscience?” Adam asked.

“More like terrified and sick,” she replied bluntly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in some kind of shock. And I already told you: the Paris BF office went through our equipment. None of it had any sort of changes or enhancements.”

“So, those were just the natural responses.”

Devon nodded. “I’m afraid so.” She let out a breath and rubbed her forehead.

"Remember that both of the boys have to be prepared for the next location," Leah warned her. "I know you aren't leaving until next week, but Ryan is the creator. Shane can be replaced," Devon flinched, but she didn't seem to notice, "but Ryan can't be."

She nodded, scratching the back of her head. "I know. He'll be ready," she assured her. "They both will."

“You don't think these weren’t prerecorded, maybe? Ryan did ask the questions,” Evelyn pointed out.

“I originally had that thought, but. . .” Devon picked up her phone and swiped over to the next video recording. “Turn to page four of the transcript? This was from Shane’s solo investigation.” She pressed play, and pushed the phone towards her colleagues. Devon looked down at her papers:

> [There was a heavy CLANG.]
> 
> SHANE: So, the spirit box was going a bit crazy before, wasn’t it? Glad I don't have to listen to it anymore. 
> 
> [A long pause.]
> 
> SHANE: Well, you know the drill. I’m Shane, we met before. Please do as you want. Fuck me up, ghost! Break my hand, crack my jaw. Maybe you worked here. Maybe you could sing. Make me sing, ghost!
> 
> [A long pause.]
> 
> SHANE: I really don't have the patience for this, ghostie. My friend, Ryan, is extremely certain that there’s nothing here. Maybe now I understand a bit better why he was acting so strangely before; because he was thinking of ways to make fake evidence.
> 
> [An audible clicking noise.]
> 
> [Static suddenly starts.]
> 
> [A thud.]
> 
> SHANE: Fuck! What the fuck was that?
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: You don't . . .
> 
> SHANE: What the fuck? I don't what, ghost?
> 
> PERCEIVED RECEPTION: Deserve him.
> 
> [An audible clicking noise.]
> 
> SHANE: Jesus, I’m going fucking insane.
> 
> [A long pause.]
> 
> [Footsteps.]
> 
> SHANE: Ryan, let me out.

Devon stopped the video and looked at the assembled staff. Evelyn picked up the phone and replayed it, watching as the spirit box seemed to turn on by itself and respond to Shane’s baiting.

They passed around the phone, replaying it, before it made its way back to Devon.

“You’ve talked to the main crew about this?” Louis asked.

Devon shook her head. “Only the camera handlers and editors. I haven’t had the chance to talk to Shane and Ryan yet.”

“Have you gone over all of the video and audio recordings?” Evelyn asked.

Devon sighed. “Not yet. Those instances are the most important thus far. Editors were just given Ryan’s footage this morning, so I’ll email you if anything else interesting comes up.” She looked back at Louis. “What do you think we should do?”

He shared a glance with the lawyers. “The opera house signed a formal contract with Buzzfeed. Could they revoke the right to record on the property?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No, it was agreed within the terms that the crew could use all footage, even if it doesn’t agree with their code of ethics, as long as it was not in any way tampered with or falsified.”

“So if they decided to come after us, they wouldn’t have a leg to stand on?” he asked.

“As long as the video footage isn’t fake,” she assured.

Devon sat back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. “Do we have the green light?” She looked at Katie, who had been silent the entire conversation.

She didn't hesitate. “As of right now, yes. If it turns out we cannot use the footage, we’ll just be an episode short this season.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

-

Lynn’s phone started vibrating on the table behind the camera, disrupting the shot. 

“Cut!” someone called as she stepped away from the camera. 

“Shit, sorry guys,” she said. She grabbed her phone, just as the screen went dark.

Curly waved her off. “It’s okay, Lynn. Call ‘em back; we weren’t getting anything done anyway.”

She gave him a closed-lip smile, before unlocking her phone. 

It was Devon.

Shit.

A notification dropped on top of her screen.

> **[2:21 P.M.] From: Devs**
> 
> Hey, did u grab lunch yet?
> 
> **[2:21 P.M.] From: Devs**
> 
> Need to talk abt Ry guy.
> 
> She bit her lip, before tapping the message and sending a quick reply.
> 
> **[2:22 P.M.] To: Devs**
> 
> give me 15 mins and i’ll meet you at the taco stand
> 
> **[2:22 P.M.] To: Devs**
> 
> the GOOD one, not tht fake shit with that unnatural cheese color

She slid her phone into her pocket, and looked up at Curly, who was across the studio where he was keeping his stuff. She walked up to him with an extra pep in her step.

“Hey, you want to grab lunch? I’ll buy, since I ruined your shot.”

He raised a brow. “With anyone else?”

“Yeah, meeting up with Devon. She might bring someone else, but I don't know yet.”

He put his finger on his chin as he thought about it. “Hm, I don't know. I haven’t eaten yet, though, so I might as well.” He grabbed his keys off the table and pulled his baby pink jacket off of the back of the chair, slipping it on carefully. “Where are we headed?”

“To the good taco truck,” she replied, grinning.

He jutted an eyebrow at her, saying, “Okay, sis, I see you,” as they walked out of the studio together.

-  
“Ugh, fucking finally, Lynn!” Devon called, garnering looks from other patrons sitting outside. Including from Curly himself. He raised his eyebrows at her as he and Lynn hurried up to her table. “Seriously, I know you said 15 minutes, but goddamn it, I finally-- Oh hi, Curly,” she interrupted. “Didn’t realize you were coming. I mean, it’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting you. Um--” 

Curly took her out of her misery. “Hey Dev. You’re fine, girl, take a breath.”

She did, gulping down air like she was drowning. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Um. Sit, guys. Please.”

They sat.

“What did you find out, Dev?” Lynn asked, probing gently. The fire returned to her eyes.

“Ryan’s footage!” she burst out. “Ryan’s footage was fucking insane!”

Lynn raised her eyebrows. “You think he faked it?”

“Fuck, no!” she replied hotly. “God, no wonder he isn’t at work today. He’s probably in shock. Or has PTSD. Or something. I don't know, he’s always so freaked at these places.”

“Ryan? Ryan Bergara? Did he finally catch a ghost?” Curly asked. He fidgeted with the cross on his wrist as he looked at Devon.

“It’s looking more and more likely. What did you think of the EMPs I sent you?”

EMPs? “The audio files?” he asked.

“Yeah, the ones I asked you to transcribe.”

“Yeah, I thought those were just people talking - you hadn’t sent the actual video or anything like that.”

Devon nodded. “Yeah, I did that purposefully. You thought they were real people, too, right?”

Curly nodded in return, even more confused. “I mean, I had been on one of their sets for La Llorona. They got some clear audio files from their spirit box thing, but nothing like that.”

“Yeah, well.” She chuckled to herself, but her eyes were hard and she seemed a little desperate. “This was certainly a different experience.”

“Are you okay?” Lynn asked her. Curly turned, watching as she reached a hand across the table. Devon grabbed onto it, entwining their fingers. 

“No. I’m really fucking not. I mean, the ones we heard with Shane were freaky, right? But Ryan’s solo investigation were just eerie and . . . terrifying. And he still didn’t hear them. He didn’t seem to understand a word it was saying.”

“Wait, hold on. He didn’t understand them?” 

Devon shook her head.

“They were clear as glass!” Something Lynn said just processed. “You thought Ryan faked evidence? He would never,” he said, offended on his behalf.

“No, of course not!” she insisted. “Shane actually asked him on set, while they were filming. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I imagine not. Oh, poor Ryan. Shane, on the other hand. Boy needs to get his act together.” Curly shook his head. “Man askin’ me for dating advice and he goes and accuses be beloved of committing the worst crime: faking evidence on his ghost show. Sad days.”

“I wonder if they can get passed this,” Lynn said.

“I wonder if _we_ can get passed this,” Devon corrected. They both looked at her. “What? Fuck romance right now. This is a bombshell. We’re going to have to deal with the fallout soon enough.”

“Are we strong enough to handle it?” Lynn asked. 

“Is Ryan?” she countered.

They didn’t say anything else, and Curly belated wondered where Ryan was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure how consistent i will be in my uploading of this fic, but i'll try to get one more chapter out before the end of november! 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoyed! please leave comments & kudos, m'dears. 
> 
> with love, lexi. i'll see y'all soon!


	3. The Fear of a Recording

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Lucien talk. Jillian and Delon edit. Devon's stressed. Aren't we all?

Ryan rubbed crust out of the corner of his eyes, groaning as he stretched his arm up. He swallowed hard, trying to wet his dry mouth. He breathed out heavily, before he opened his eyes, blinking hard to clear them.

A single light fixture hung above him, glowing softly against a black ceiling. He reached over to grab his glasses off of his side table and--

There was nothing there.

He shifted and that’s when he noticed he wasn’t in his own bed. He was on a lush, soft ottoman, with a crimson blanket draped around his shoulders and body. He sat up and flushed when he realized he was naked, and hurried to tighten the blanket around him.

_Where am I?_ he questioned silently.

Of course there wasn’t a response.

Ryan looked around. Mirrors were propped up all around him in a circle; asides from the light above and the blanket covering him, the entire room was drenched in black. He looked at one of his own reflections and frowned when he could see clearly.

He could see clearly.

“Am I asleep?” he wondered aloud.

“Dreaming, to be a bit more precise.”

He flinched and turned around. 

There stood Lucien.

His face was childlike, but beautifully shaped; with sunkissed skin, a strong nose, and pale green eyes, it hit Ryan how young he was when he died, and he couldn’t help mourning Lucien’s lost life and opportunities. 

Then he noticed the markings.

Ryan took in his imperfections, his eyes darting to each one with sympathy: a cut beneath his right cheekbone, red hand marks decorating his throat. Lucien was still wearing part of his costume, a ripped white undergarment and torn leather trousers; most of the fabric was embedded in his open scars up and down his arms and legs. 

He took a step forward, seeming to glide across the empty floor.

Ryan remembered his fragmented memory, his inability to recall the way he got home.

“What’s happening to me? What’s happening to my body?”

Lucien squinted at him. “What do you mean?”

“Why am I . . .” What did Ryan want to say? “Why am I so sick, now that you’re in my body? I was dizzy, didn’t feel good. I should be panicking, I know I should be panicking, and yet . . .” He trailed off, letting the sentence disintegrate into air. “I’m-- I’m analytical, I can be analytical, but I’m never like this. I should be acting, if not feeling, differently than how I actually am.”

Lucien stood stock still for a moment, before he breathed out and walked up to the ottoman, sitting down heavily. He slouched over, putting his arm on his knee, and propping his chin on his palm. He looked at Ryan.

“It’s me,” he confessed, glancing away as he spoke. Ryan stilled, and narrowed his eyes at Lucien. “Your body was adjusting to my presence. It’s your body’s natural response, somewhat like an illness.”

“What do you know about modern day illnesses?” Ryan tried to snarl. Instead, it came out flat, and curious. His anger was warmed, and willed, away.

“Much more, now that I’m actually present in the twenty first century.” He gave Ryan a small smile, looking up at him from beneath his dark lashes. Ryan forgot why he was alarmed, the soothing heat calming his emotions. He tries to hold onto it, grappling at the remnants, before they slipped away from his mental grasp, leaving a faint peace in its wake. “Your body takes preventative measures to try to flush out the illness. For instance, when you become sick from a common cold, your body begins to produce mucus.” He paused. “When your body realized what my capabilities were, it began to shut down so I couldn’t take control.

“I’ve stabilized your body.”

Ryan stared at him, reflexively opening and closing his mouth in tandem. He realized the implications, almost immediately. “So, have you been in control this whole time?”

He nodded, his eyes glimmering solemnly. “I had to be, or else you might have died. I was able to adjust to your body and you’ll be able to take control again.”

“That was my one request,” Ryan murmured.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Lucien hung his head. “It wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t let you suffer; not when it was my fault you were suffering to begin with.”

Ryan bit the inside of his lip, not really surprised when he didn’t feel the sting. He tightened his grip on the blanket, before he carefully scooched closer to Lucien. He cleared his throat and Lucien looked up. 

Carefully, aware that his eyes were following his movements, Ryan gently pat Lucien’s shoulder. Under his hand, the muscles tensed and tightened, before Ryan lightly caressed the area, and a full body shudder erupted from Lucien. He gasped for breath and then relaxed under his slow movements. 

“It’s been . . . so long,” his voice cracked, “Since I’ve felt the touch of . . . another . . .” He let out another shuddering breath, before he fell backwards, leaning heavily against Ryan’s side. “I hardly . . . remember . . .”

He seemed to force his eyes open, those pale eyes glinting from the light fixture. “Wake up, Ryan. It’s time to get up.”

Ryan’s head was forced back, as a vertigo settled in his vision. Stars appeared behind his eyelids, and--

His eyes snapped open, his blurry white ceiling staring back down at him.

\--

“God, I’m glad Devon gave us a warning,” Jillian said to Delon. They were sat on her couch, with their laptops propped on their thighs and their feet tucked beneath a shared blanket. Across from them was an empty pizza box and two extra large coffee cups, lying on the floor innocuously like they weren’t exactly what they needed right now. “This is a fucking weird one.”

God, she wanted to have GrubHub deliver more coffee.

Delon pulled off his headphones. “No shit, Sherlock?” He shook his head. “She told me cut everything that isn’t either A) aesthetically pleasing, B) wasn’t in some way spooky, or C) both. And you know what? Everything is both. At this point, they should just post all of the footage and let the fans make an episode. This entire thing is like a boogaras nightmare.”

“You a shaniac?” Jillian asked. She was curious.

“Fuck, no! I’m terrified. And if I were a shaniac before, I’d be a boogara now. I mean, okay. I’m working on Ryan’s stuff now. Apparently he had to take three days off for his mental health, which, big mood. Anyway. Devon vetted his shit, made sure it was legit, which it is. This is the raw footage from his camera. And it’s so goddamn creepy.” He rewound the video some, clicking on a specific time, before pressing ‘play’. Jillian leaned over, looking intently at his screen.

A shaky video recording of Ryan’s face popped up. There were uneven footsteps echoing across the chamber, before he seemed to stop moving, settling next to a dull light. He was breathing heavily and shivers went down Jillian’s spine as she listened to him speak.

“I have to be honest. I know you’re here.”

“He never tries to interact with ghosts,” Jillian murmured. 

“No, he doesn’t. And listen to that raw fear in his voice,” Delon replied. “It’s different. Way different. He wasn’t even like this in the Sally House.”

There was a rustling in the video and they both froze. 

> “Something is here.”

The rustling became louder.

> “Someone is here.”

It went silent, again.

“God, that’s fucking creepy. The boys are going to have to go through these tapes for the episode.” 

Delon groaned, throwing his head back. “At this rate, they might as well live stream the episode, ‘cus of how long it’ll be,” he said, proposing an other alternative than editing this fucking mess together. 

Jillian opened her mouth to jibe back, but Ryan spoke again.

> “I’ve got to be honest, dude. I really do not want to do this right now.”

Tears were welling in his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ, is he--?”

Delon nodded, his eyes rapt on the screen.

> “Christ, what am I doing? I could have sworn I felt something before!” A single tear escaped, slowly trailing down his cheek, glinting in the light. All of the air seemed to leave him. 

“I thought you said you watched this already?” Jillian said quickly when Ryan paused, putting his head in his hands. The camera went dark.

“Video hadn’t fully processed, was working on it in chunks,” he replied.

Ryan choked off a faux-laugh. 

> “No, Ryan. The only thing you felt before was betrayal.”

“Wait,” Delon said. He paused the video. “Wait, wait, espera. I’m pausing. I paused it. It’s paused. Betrayed? What the fuck? He can’t be talking about his ex, right? That was a few years ago.”

“No, Shane’s accusation.”

“Shane’s accusation? What did Shane say?” he asked, bewildered.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I started editing that one, didn’t realize . . . Okay, anyway. Shane accused Ryan of falsifying evidence.”

“Ay, ¿qué chingados?” His face twisted in disgust. “Jesus, no wonder Ryan is all messed up. I mean, the evidence he has is great, but he hasn’t been paying any attention to it.”

“But-- I mean, that’s probably why he and the others thought it was fake. I dunno.”

“What? Because he couldn’t hear it right then and there? He never does!”

She put up her hands. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I don't know, either. Maybe because he wasn’t paying attention to it, they thought he might just be acting more obtuse to whatever they were catching on camera.”

Delon scoffed. “He wouldn’t.”

“I’m not disagreeing.” She shifted straightening her back so she sat more comfortably while still being able to see the screen. “You said this is the first time it’s loaded?”

He nodded. “We might want to talk to the Unsolved crew members before we get this back to Devon.”

“Because of the overall freakiness?”

“Yeah. Alright, let’s. . .” He rewound a couple seconds before playing the video feed. 

There was a loud whooshing noise and Ryan looked back up, the camera jostling on his head. He flinched away from something, jumping up and moving in fast, jerky movements. 

> “What the fuck,” Ryan cried out, his fingers covering the camera lens for a second, before his face was clear again. “What the fuck?” he repeated, a bit louder. He started pulling at his clothes, his fingers digging into the fabric in a blind panic, frantically pulling at the loose seams, as if trying to pull them off. 

There was a clunking sound in the distance, but Jillian couldn’t pull her eyes away from Ryan’s. . . breakdown.

> “I want you here,” he murmured, his tone different. His facial expression went slack, his eyes drooping as his head tilted back. His mouth opened, and--

“Is he singing?” Jillian blurted out. 

“What the fuck,” Delon said, with feeling.

He was singing. He was going through the different scales, his voice going soft and warm as it went higher and higher. 

The glass lightbulbs shattered as Ryan’s body crumbled to the ground, the silence deafening for a few seconds, before the cavern door opened.

Jillian pressed the spacebar. “Okay, I know I’m going to sound fucking stupid, but did he just get possessed?”

“We’re talking to him tomorrow,” Delon decided. He shut the lid to his laptop. “It looked like he just got possessed. Let’s ask him about it. You know him, right? You’ve hung out with him?” She nodded. “You know some of his mannerisms and stuff?”

Unease settled in the pit of Jillian’s stomach. “Yeah but. . . What if he is, though?” 

He glanced back up at her and caught Jillian’s eye, the first time since they started in on the video. His face twisted and he bit his lip. “Let’s. . . hope he isn’t. And if he is. . .” Delon took a deep breath.

“We pray.”

\--

Devon walked into the office with her loaded bag hefted over her shoulder, and spare papers in her arms; an earbud hung loosely out of her left ear, her coffee cup was burning her hand, and she wanted to die.

Just a little bit. 

She knew she looked like shit. 

She knew people were glancing her way, before their eyes skittered away guiltily when she caught them looking. 

She knew her sneakers were squeaking unpleasantly against the newly cleaned tile floor.

She knew.

She just couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn. She was too stressed to care about which shoes she should be wearing with her dark grey trousers. It didn’t matter.

Not when she received a text from her best editors in the middle of the night, sounding ominous and foreboding.

> **[12:13 A.M.] From: BFU Editors**
> 
> Jillian: Hey, Devon. Do you know if Ryan is going to be in tomorrow?
> 
> **[12:13 A.M.] From: BFU Editors**
> 
> Jillian: Delon and I need to chat with him about some of the footage.
> 
> **[12:14 A.M.] From: BFU Editors**
> 
> Delon: yh it’s v important
> 
> **[5:03 A.M.] To: BFU Editors**
> 
> Devon: Talked 2 him last night.
> 
> **[5:07 A.M.] To: BFU Editors**
> 
> Why? 

They hadn’t replied, and now, she was on her second coffee, after only coming into the office five minutes ago. She was worried about what they needed to talk to Ryan about. Did he change the files? Did he corrupt the files? He was a BuzzFeed producer; he knew how to edit videos. But everyone heard it clear as day when they were actually there; the only people who seemed skeptical of the evidence were Bella, Shane, and ironically enough, Ryan.

But, was it fair of her assume any issue may come from Ryan?

No, and guiltily, she tried to evade that thought process.

She sighed to herself. 

It was a work in progress.

As soon as Devon reached her desk, she dropped her papers onto the tabletop and carefully extracted herself out of her bag.

She took a sip of her coffee and sighed in bliss.

“Hey, Dev.”

A hand clapped on her shoulder and she startled, swallowing thickly. She turned sharply, and beamed when she realized it actually was Ryan. Thank God.

“Hey!” She watched him as he took a seat at his own desk. “It’s been a quick minute. Are you good? You seemed really sick on the airplane, and you’ve been off a couple days . . .” She studied him, looking for any sign of disarray. He seemed fine; he looked healthy, his skin was a healthy flush and his eyes-- “Are you wearing contacts?”

Ryan blinked as Devon leaned closer and the color was even clearer, a pearly evergreen with soft flecks of brown right near the iris. 

“You are! Colored ones, too. Are they bothering your eyes? I kind of wanted to get some different colored contacts for my Halloween costume--”

“It’s August,” Ryan interrupted.

“It’s always Halloween, Ryan. It’s never too early. Anyway. Do they hurt? They can’t be too bad if you’re wearing them to work.” Devon finally sat down, separating the different papers into their category.

“Uhh -- Well--”

She glanced up, just as Ryan straightened his back and he blinked slowly at Devon. His fingers ran restlessly over the keyboard.

“They’re bothering me, but not too badly. I couldn’t find my glasses and I seem to have run out of other contacts.”

“Ooh, okay.” She frowned at him; his demeanor changed, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Her phone went off and she glanced at it, a new message appearing at the top.

> **[8:02 A.M.] From: BFU Editors**
> 
> Jillian: Is Ryan in yet?
> 
> **[8:02 A.M.] From: BFU Editors**
> 
> Jillian: were waiting in conference room 28
> 
> **[8:02 A.M.] From: BFU Editors**
> 
> Jillian: We’re*

She picked up her phone and typed a quick reply.

> **[8:03 A.M.] To: BFU Editors**
> 
> i’ll tell him now

“Hey Ryan, Jill and Del want to meet in conference room 28,” she said, putting down her phone and starting up her computer.

“Now?” he asked.

His voice was sharp and Devon looked over at him. His face was unreadable. 

She remembered her concerns. 

Devon frowned. She hadn’t realized she’d forgotten them.

“Yeah, they wanted to go over some footage.”

His face cleared and he gave her a grin. She felt even more confused. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you later than.” 

She watched him walk away. There was something off about him right now. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about his experience down in the cavern.

She’d look into it later.

-

Delon set up a camera in the far corner of the room. “He’s coming now, you think?”

“Definitely,” Jillian replied, her eyes locked on her screen and her fingers tapping rapidly. She spared him a glance. “You should probably hurry up. Devon just told me he’s on his way.”

“Great. Fantastic.” He checked the memory, before nodding to himself. Plenty of storage for a twenty minute meeting. Hopefully only a twenty minute meeting. He pressed the record button and walked back over to Jillian. “Are you ready to see a ghost?”

Jillian opened her mouth to respond, but closed it as soon as the door opened.

Ryan looked . . . absolutely fine. 

Normal, even.

All except for his eyes, which seemed to glow a pale green effervescently. 

“Hey Ryan,” Jillian called. Delon was somewhat grateful she was the one who broke the short silence.

“Hey, guys,” he replied, giving them a wide grin. He walked over, pausing behind their seats and leaning forward to look at their screens. Delon gave the corner camera a quick glance, before focusing back on Ryan. “What’s up? Dev said you wanted to talk about some footage?”

“Yeah, we do,” Delon said.

“Wouldn’t that be better for the sound booth?”

“Nah, we had a few questions before we got your ‘official reactions,’” Jillian replied smoothly. Delon could kiss her. “Oh, one quick question, though: what’s with your eyes?”

Never mind, she was definitely going to get them killed.

Except Ryan was already replying, “I ran out of other contacts and I can’t find my glasses. Think I should keep the green eye?” he asked jokingly, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Jillian laughed and Delon couldn’t help crack a smile, too, despite his confusion. 

Was he okay?

“Sure, you look good with them,” Jillian replied good-naturedly. “Anyway.” She gestured for Delon to continue.

“Obviously, we have to talk to Devon and the crew about what footage needs to be cut, and what makes it into the episode,” he started. Ryan’s brow furrowed, and he took a seat next to him. “But we also want to make sure that you’re alright with everything that gets into the episode. It’s good evidence but it’s. . . Well, you’ll see.”

Delon turned the computer around towards Ryan and played the videos. He watched his face anxiously, waiting for any sign of anger or discomfort or pain.

But there was nothing.

His brow furrowed a little bit, and he blinked heavily a couple times, and his brows rose once he heard himself singing, but if anything, he seemed amused. He didn’t seem to notice any of the clatters, until the glass broke.

That’s when the amusement faded and he looked between Delon and Jillian. 

“I must’ve blacked out,” he said. “I don't remember any of it.”

“We just wanted your permission to show the others first,” Jillian fibbed.

“Surely they must have seen already. I mean, Devon always tries to go over it first before she gives it you guys. I know I usually go over it, too, with her, but. I guess it makes sense why I’ve felt so awful.”

Delon shared a look with Jillian over Ryan’s shoulder. It was Ryan. It had to be.

“So, you wouldn’t mind having it on the show?” Delon asked.

“No, it’s good.”

“How about having you and Shane react to the footage?”

The energy shifted in the room and Ryan stood up abruptly. 

“That works,” he replied. “Are we finished, here?” 

Delon stared at him. Jillian quickly nodded and said, “Yes, we are.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, the door banging shut behind him in the frame. 

“He seemed fine, right up until the end,” Jillian said morosely. She slouched down, leaning back in her seat. “I think, maybe he just freaked out instead of. You know.”

“Getting possessed?” Delon asked sardonically. He let out a snort, and Jillian chuckled. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” She pushed her chair away from the table and walked towards the camera. She fiddled with it, her tips turning downwards. “It’s not on.”

Delon raised his eyebrows. “I literally just turned it on, before he came in.” Then he frowned. “Maybe I didn’t press ‘record’? Sorry.”

She waved him off. “It’s fine. He’s fine, so there really wasn’t anything to study, anyway. Let’s just get to work.”

\--

He watched Ryan interact with his coworkers in relative silence. 

Every once in a while, he would direct a change in conversation, or switch Ryan’s trains-of-thought.

It was strange.

The only time Ryan held complete control of his mind was when he was dictated by emotion. He hadn’t seen Shane yet since they went to America, and Ryan was fine with that, despite his past feelings.

Feelings . . .

Lucien felt.

He felt as he did when alive. He felt as he did when incorporeal.

What he needed was to remember.

Well.

Unconsciously, he made Ryan rub his ring finger. Even after decades, it was still an odd sensation, not wearing a ring. He didn’t remember why.

He wanted to remember.

He will remember.

He flexed his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will he, though?
> 
> i'm sorry i haven't posted this yet! it's been hectic. but my finals are next week, so i will be free from this semester. i am hyped. 
> 
> i'll see y'all soon ( i promise within the next month)! please leave comments and kudos, i appreciate them so much! i've read all of them, and i will be replying to all of them soon!
> 
> i will link my tumblr next time i'm able, but my @ is cleopatraslibrary. if you feel like it, come scream with me ♡
> 
> much love, y'all

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!!! much love to everyone who has followed this story in the past and who continues to read. please leave me feedback and kudos; i absolutely love reading all of your comments.
> 
> have a wonderful night/day! with love, lexi <3
> 
> [ come scream with me on my tumblr!](https://cleopatraslibrary.tumblr.com/)


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